


Reform the Ties

by phantasmicfish



Category: The Outcasts (2017)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Post-Canon, can you hear the sound of this ship breaking in folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:13:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28402251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantasmicfish/pseuds/phantasmicfish
Summary: There are no other grocery stores in the area except the one that’s twenty eight miles out of her way. Jodi is not that pathetic, she won’t be stuck in public transportation for two hours to avoid seeing her, she won’t, she won’t, she won’t-“Did you change grocery stores, or something?” Whitney asks her, two weeks later.
Relationships: Jodi & Mindy, Whitney & Jodi, Whitney/Jodi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	Reform the Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This movie is so underrated it makes me want to scream. So, here I go, single-handedly keeping this ship afloat since 1999....

College is _cool._

Jodi gets a cheap, off-campus apartment while working her way through a degree, - even tries to keep a potted plant alive for more than a week, but gives up after attempt #3 - releases a single that does fairly well all things considered, stumbles her way into some friends, and well. She’s happy. She likes music and she likes learning about music (composition much more than theory), but in the end it’s all a thousand times better than anything her high school teachers could have drummed up.

Life, for the first time in a long time, is good.

-

Jodi is doing just that - enjoying life - when there are three sharp knocks on her door. The paint is white but flaking in the corners and spots where wood meets hinge. Jodi opens it.

It’s Whitney.

Jodi has five panic attacks in the span of ten seconds where she waits to get punched or maimed or assaulted, and Whitney just stands there, looking, for all the world, _casual,_ like she’s meant to stand there, like she didn’t just pop out-of-the-fucking-blue in the middle of Jodi’s blossoming life.

“Whitney.” Jodi says, aghast, instead of _what the fuck why are you invading my life help help._ “Uh. What are you doing here?”

Whitney just smiles, a thin daggery smile that Jodi is used to seeing and makes goosebumps sprint along her arms. “I’m your new neighbor.”

“Hzrn?” Jodi says.

“Articulate as ever,” Whitney notes, with another viscous smile. Jodi wants to argue back, but when she opens her mouth all that comes out are a bunch of coughing noises like a fish flailing out of water. Her stomach drops, leaden with stones, and she’s vaguely aware that at some point the spot between her eyebrows developed a headache. She reflects, dimly, that it must be the shock.

Whitney raises her eyebrows at the display, like she is well aware that Jodi was an idiot, and flips her stupid blonde hair needlessly as she turns around. “Well, just thought I’d stop by,” she says, and then trots off on the tallest heels Jodi has ever seen. Each click makes her wince, like Whitney was jamming a prong into the soft, squishy part of her brain.

Life, officially, sucks.

-

“ _Whitney?_ ” Mindy screeches over the phone after Jodi explains her Encounter From Hell. There’s some clambering on the other line, and Jodi is sure Mindy just fell out of whatever chair she was sitting in.

“ _Adolf_ Whitney?”

“The very same.”

“Why was she there? Do you think she’s stalking you? Is she out for revenge?”

Jodi has a brief, horrible image of Whitney smashing her brain in with a hammer, Here’s Johnny style. Jodi shudders, closes her eyes, yet the memory sticks in her brain like chewed gum. “She’s my neighbor.”

Mindy gasps on the other line. “Do you want me to come over there? I can scare her off with another chemical weapon.” Jodi notes the pride in her voice with dismay, yet decides not to comment on it. _That_ particular incident was a corpse best remained buried.

“No.” Jodi says, knowing Mindy’s offer was sincere. “It’s fine. It's fine! I’ll figure it out. Maybe she’ll trip and fall down a flight of stairs in her massive heels.” She chews readily through her bottom lip, an after effect of attempting to keep her voice light and carefree.

“That’s the spirit!” Mindy cheers, though it sounds a little forced, a little too optimistic. Jodi sits in morose silence, and Mindy’s voice creeps invitingly across the line to ask, “Want to have a _Star Wars_ marathon? Prequels only?”

Jodi manages a smile, even though Mindy can’t see her. A distraction sounded good, she hoped it would be enough to dislodge the cloud of gloom settled in her stomach. “Sure.”

-

She sees Whitney again shopping.

Jodi is in the canned goods aisle, humming lazily to a pop song playing through her earbuds. She’s deciding which type of pasta to buy, elbows or plain ordinary bows, holding up both bags to read the ingredients, as if that would help, and she’ll find the answer written in fine print like a hidden clue. Gosh. She sucks at being an adult.

“Bows.” A voice says behind her.

Jodi spins around; one of her earbuds falls out in surprise. 

“I’d get bows.” Whitney clarifies, standing with her own shopping cart. It’s got a bunch of canned soups in it. “Bows are the obvious choice.”

Jodi digs her teeth into the lip, already she can feel her emotions going haywire. The song dwindles down and starts playing an advertisement about skin cream; through one earbud it sounds high and nasally, needling in her ear. “What do you want?”

Whitney shrugs innocently. “Nothing. I’m just saying, elbows are for losers.”

Jodi has a sudden, distinct memory of Whitney shoving her into a locker, the collision vibrating painfully against her side as Whitney hissed _loser_ in her ear.

“Right, no, of course you’re right.” Jodi babbles, about three seconds away from completely losing it. “I’m a loser. It was good of you to remind me.” Without waiting to hear Whitney’s response, she throws both bags onto the shelves and sprints out of the store.

-

There are no other grocery stores in the area except the one that’s twenty eight miles out of her way. Jodi is _not_ that pathetic, she won’t be stuck in public transportation for two hours to avoid seeing her, she won’t, she won’t, she won’t-

“Did you change grocery stores, or something?” Whitney asks her, two weeks later. 

Jodi’s made the unfortunate mistake of stepping into the hall at exactly eight thirty three pm to throw away her trash, which is apparently the same time Whitney leaves the building to do…. something. Probably murder rainbows and dreams.

“Uh, no.” Jodi says, hoisting the trash bag into the dispenser. It ends up getting stuck, and Jodi is left attempting to shove it down the chute while trying to sound casual and nonchalant. “No. Of course not. What makes you say that?”

“Well, you saw me at the store, freaked out over a bag of pasta, and I’ve never seen you there again. I know you’re not shopping there because I asked to look over the security footage.”

“Oh.” Jodi wasn’t surprised that Whitney checked the store’s security cameras for her, this type of elaborate behavior was classic Whitney. “I mean, _Whaaat?_ No, I just go to this other store because,” Jodi racks her brain for something believable, and what comes out is, “I really like bananas. And I can only get this one specific type of banana at a different store. Which happens to be all the way across town.”

“Bananas are genetically identical. Well, cavendish bananas are.”

It’s at that point, because the universe hates her, that the trash bag chooses to rip. Half the contents plunge down the shoot, while the other half ends up tumbling onto and around Jodi’s hair, clothes, and shoes. It’s a horrible, stinking mess. Jodi stands there - poor eating habits on display, caught in a very pathetic lie - and promptly sinks to the floor.

Whitney stares down at her critically. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for the floor to swallow me.” Jodi says. “So my life can officially end.”

Whitney produces a noise that sounds a lot like laughter. Actual, genuine laughter, at a joke that _Jodi_ said. That disproves the idea that Whitney was a futuristic cyborg incapable of feelings. Mindy had been certain that was the case.

Whitney huffs. “Get up,” She says. It’s a command, but not a malevolent one. In fact, Whitney’s looking down at her in a way that’s almost friendly. When Jodi continues to sit there, Whitney bends down, takes Jodi’s hands, and pulls. Jodi, stunned, lets Whitney help her to her feet.

“Where are we going?” Jodi asks suspiciously, as Whitney leads her down the hall.

“To get you out of these clothes. They look like garbage.”

Was that a joke? Jodi’s lips, involuntarily, quirk into a smile. When she realizes she’s doing it, she schools her expression back into a frown.

Instead of leading her into her own place, or a different floor, Whitney stops outside Jodi’s door.

“Well?” Whitney prompts, staring at the door expectantly. “Aren't you going to open it?”

She could have protested, could have said no, but for whatever strange, impulsive reason that she refuses to analyze, Jodi opens it. What follows is an immediate sense of _wrong_ at letting Whitney into her apartment, like inviting a demon into her home. Jodi can feel the Whitney-ness spreading like an essence or a bad perfume, tainting the bright interior. All at once she wants to hide her _X-Files_ hoodie, artful selection of hats, guitar with Loki and Black Widow stickers on it, all while somehow throwing them in Whitney’s face.

Whitney takes in her apartment with narrowed eyes and critical silence. Jodi supposes silence is the best outcome she could have hoped for in this situation, and stands there awkwardly while Whitney assesses her place, probably categorizing each item as hopelessly lame, amusing, or cannon fodder. 

“You can wait here, I guess.” Jodi says, before stepping in her room to change. It feels weird giving Whitney an order (half-order), weirder still when she follows it, but Jodi manages not to back out or tack on an option like, _“or sit on the couch, or eat some food, or get comfortable.”_ She doesn’t want Whitney getting comfortable in her apartment. Definitely not.

Whitney is still standing there when Jodi comes back. Jodi is relieved to see she hasn’t cut up any of her posters or burned any of her belongings, but her relief is offset when Whitney gives Jodi an appraising look. It pulls her back to high school, back to living under piles of judgment, self-loathing, and hate. Fun times.

Jodi pulls at the hem of the skirt that she’d changed into. It’s purple, stripped, and feels suddenly very short, and the oddity of this situation dawns on her especially hard, like a truck full of bricks. Whitney is in her apartment staring at her, Jodi feels her cheeks heat up, and oh my God, _why_ did Jodi let her in here-

“Purple goes good with your eyes.” Whitney notes, out-of-the-blue. “Red, too.” It’s such a genuine compliment, missing the snark that is the Hallmark of Whitney’s personality, that Jodi is thrown into silence. 

She twists her lips. Um. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome. Next time, don’t go thirty miles for bananas. There’s a store a block away.”

-

Jodi explains the bizarre encounter to Mindy twenty minutes later - from running into Whitney in the hall, to letting her into her apartment and not getting beheaded in the process.

“You _let_ her into your apartment?” Mindy squeaks, voice shrill. “What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know!” Jodi says, at a loss, because she honestly doesn’t have an answer. “I guess I just did it.”

”Mind-control,” Mindy notes decisively, and Jodi can picture her shaking her head over the phone. “That’s got to be it.”

Jodi shrugs, a little put-off by the suggestion, but again, decides not to analyze it. She leans her back against her couch cushions and closes her eyes, reflecting on the weirdness of the afternoon. To Mindy, she says, “She said purple is my color. Apparently it ‘goes well with my eyes.’” 

“She complimented you? She must have a malicious, ulterior motive.”

“It didn’t sound malicious.” Jodi explains, thinking about it. She remembers Whitney’s laugh, which sounded natural and elegant, the type of laughter worthy of the queen. It was actually… sorta nice to listen to. Harmonious, soothing. “It sounded like she was trying to be _nice._ ”

“Be careful.” Mindy warns, her tone ominous and chilling over the phone, “Remember Eve took an apple, and look where she ended up.”

-

Jodi is watching _Frozen_ when Whitney walks in. 

Jodi isn’t as surprised as she should be; in a weird, cruel way, she’s used to Whitney prodding in her life as if she’s supposed to be a part of it, and her blatant disregard for personal space.

Still, this doesn’t stop Jodi from bolting upright, heartbeat skyrocketing. That’s a habit she’ll never get rid of, at least not without years of therapy. Whitney ignores this, or maybe she doesn’t - Jodi really can’t tell; her face is resting in a frown. 

She takes in Jodi’s pyjamas, which have Tina Fey’s new book on them, and the movie playing on the screen. In loud, quick steps, Whitney marches over, snags the remote sitting on the couch, and pushes pause.

“ _Hey!_ ” Jodi squeals, indignant.

Whitney ignores her. “What are you doing?”

“Well, I _was_ watching a very good movie before you walked in.” 

“It’s nine pm.” Whitney declares, as if Jodi didn’t know that. “Don’t you have a life?”

“Yeah, I do, actually.”

“Then why aren’t you living it? You should be going to parties, not sitting on a couch watching low-grade animation.” Whitney gives the TV a glare, as if its existence personally offended her. The screen was frozen on a large snowflake trailing from Elsa’s fingertips.

“I don’t like parties. And the only time I attended one, someone played a horrific prank on me that crushed my soul.” Jodi says pointedly.

Whitney has the grace to look uncomfortable. “Still.” She says, recovering from showing an emotion other than confidence and snark. “ _This_ isn’t normal.”

“It is to me.” Jodi says simply. “I like watching Disney movies. I watch them with Mindy all the time.” She grins at the memories, and, since mentioning Mindy’s name revitalized her, adds, “Are there any other aspects of my life you’d like to criticize?”

Whitney thinks about it. “No.”

Jodi rolls her eyes. “Then can I have my remote back, please?”

Whitney places it into Jodi’s outstretched palm with a scowl. “Fine. If you’re going to be boring, I’ll leave.”

“What are you even doing in my apartment anyway?” Jodi snaps loudly, suddenly fed up with all of it - Whitney’s insulting comments, disregard for personal space, commanding attitude. Her presence, once again invading Jodi’s life. “Why did you barge in here?” Jodi glances at Whitney’s outfit: tight dress, red heels, hoop earrings that are wide enough to stick her hand through.

Instead of answering, Whitney purses her lips. “I’m going out.”

“Are you?” Jodi says, now with less heat. “Because it looks like you’re busy bothering me.”

“I was going out.” Whitney amends. “And then my date got busy.”

“Oh.” Whitney got stood up. Jodi stares at Whitney more carefully this time, and finds herself wondering who on Earth would stand up Whitney. Her hair is pinned up like it was at Prom, but several strands are loose in odd places as if she ran her fingers through it. Her cheeks are flushed, and she’s tapping her heel impatiently on Jodi’s floor. She’s upset; it’s uncomfortably disconcerting.

“You can watch _Frozen_ with me.” Jodi suggests. “If you want.” She realizes the words coming out of her mouth with sudden surprise, then with panic when she realizes that Whitney’s fallen silent and is actually considering her offer. “But you can’t make fun of what I’m watching.” Jodi tacks on quickly. “Or my clothes. Or me.”

She stares at Whitney, expecting her to snap back, but instead she accepts Jodi’s demands without complaint. It’s surprising how pliant she suddenly is, and Jodi thinks Whitney must be pretty upset after all. The date must have been important, Jodi thinks, and decides not to ask.

They sit on the couch in awkward silence, the only sound coming from the TV and Jodi’s active, grumbling dishwasher. Jodi assumes her original position on the couch, limbs spread right in the center of a blanket huddle, and Whitney takes the corner piece. She sits primly on the cushions, spine rod-straight, as if she’s afraid the couch will ruin her dress or suddenly bite her. In any case, Jodi is very jealous of her posture.

It isn’t horrible, exactly. But not amicable either. Whitney’s spine relaxes only fractionally an hour in, but Jodi catches her smiling during the singing parts when she thinks Jodi isn’t looking.

-

“Here.” Whitney says. “I brought you some of your beloved bananas.”

“Oh, good.” Jodi says, as if Whitney hasn’t randomly barged in again. It’s been a day after their awkward movie-watching encounter, Jodi’s ordered some blue curtains, though is now seriously considering investing in a better lock. Or any lock. Whitney walks directly into Jodi’s kitchen to put the bananas down.

“So, what’s up?” Jodi asks, partly to fill the silence but partly because she’s actually curious.

Whitney shifts from foot to foot, then seems to realize she’s doing it and stops herself. “I… I wanted. To thank you. For yesterday. It was nice.”

“Oh.” Jodi blinks. “Uh, no problem. It was nice, yeah.” She notes, rather, that this conversation is awkward in a way that’s highly reminiscent of yesterday evening. 

“That’s why I brought the bananas,” Whitney continues, “as a nice person thing? To give to you? They’re ripe, so, just take them and be grateful.”

Jodi blinks again. “Whitney,” she says slowly, “are you trying to give me a gift?”

“Yes.” Whitney chokes out. “That.”

“Oh.” Jodi really has to start being more articulate when Whitney is around. Jodi smiles goofily, feeling pleased with no real explanation, warmth pooling in her chest. “Thank you.” Jodi takes the bananas and puts them in her fruit bowl, after which she sits in at a bar stool behind the counter. 

Maybe it’s Whitney’s unsolicited and kind gift, or her frequent presence in Jodi’s apartment, but Jodi feels comfortable enough to share her evenings plans. “I was just gonna watch some _Doctor Who_. Wanna watch? Second Doctor, introduced in 1967. He’s my favorite doctor, Mindy and I both agree he’s the best.”

“It’s actually 1966.”

There’s a moment of complete silence. Jodi’s mouth goes slack. Whitney stares at her, spine straight.

“I _knew_ it!” Jodi exclaims, jumping to her feet and doing a fist-pump. “You watch _Doctor Who_! Oh my God you are _such_ a closet dork, don’t even try to deny it.”

“Shut up.” Whitney snaps, and then Jodi’s brain catches up with her mouth as she realizes what she just said and who she just said it to. Aggressively, Whitney continues, “Just because I know a couple facts does _not_ mean I like your pathetic show, okay?” 

“Okay.” Jodi says, nodding furiously. She shreds her lip, reminds herself that Whitney has yet to break her shoulder or throw something at her head, but it doesn’t calm the uncoordinated drumming in her chest. The quiet that fills the room is thick, venomous, and then Whitney sighs.

“Fine. I’m guilty.” She gesticulates with her hand; her pink nail polish sparkles under Jodi’s ceiling lamp. “ _Sometimes_ I watch your pathetic show.” 

As if in afterthought, Whitney adds, “You tell anyone, I’ll kill you.”

Jodi swallows. “Got it,” she mutters through her torn lip. Jodi isn’t sure why, but Whitney actually looks uncomfortable. “Stop looking like I’m going to break your bones.” Whitney commands.

Jodi has a vivid memory of one of the times Whitney’s hellish gang _did_ break her bone: sophomore year she dislocated her shoulder because Ryan slammed her against the classroom door. Jodi had lied and told Herb she broke it falling off her bike. She shudders the memory away. Jodi smiles thinly, and buzzing with the revelation that Whitney watches _Doctor Who_ , as well as her still-subsiding fear, plops back down on the stool. 

Whitney frowns like she’s just received some disconcerting news, unsatisfied with Jodi’s reaction. She walks over to the TV, turns it on. The second Doctor is staring at a rose bush, because Jodi was already five minutes into an episode when she went to get a snack. Whitney settles on the edge of the couch and pushes play.

Again, Jodi’s not sure why she doesn’t kick Whitney out, why she sits down on the couch next to her. It’s a splice between too much time spent without seeing Mindy and a knee-jerk reaction, because she’s never felt very uncomfortable in total, crippling silence, and when Jodi thinks about it, Whitney’s behaving less like an antagonistic jerk and more like a decent human being. Or maybe Jodi has finally developed Stockholm Syndrome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come wax poetic about this film with me on [tumblr](https://phantasmicfish.tumblr.com)! I’ll be severely surprised if someone other than me watches this movie on loop, hehehe.


End file.
